


Talking Til' Dawn

by lordbunnir



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Talking Radio Friends, Waking up at three a.m., Wilson being far to trusting for his own good, i put some effort into this and im really proud of it, its a little short tho, kinda maxwil but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbunnir/pseuds/lordbunnir
Summary: Wilson and his radio have a friendly chat.





	Talking Til' Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Creative writing class prompts have had me writing like a billion Don't Starve fics, but this is the only one I've sat down to finish...at any rate, hope y'all enjoy.

It rattled him.

Wilson woke at what must have been three in the morning, hindered briefly in his attempt to bolt upright in bed by his own sweat, which had adhered his body to the sheets and produced a sickly peeling sensation when he tried to rise off of them. He indulged in his single moment’s terror for perhaps a while longer than necessary, shook as he was by the intrusion into his mind and assault on his senses. Wilson took several shuddering breaths, reaching a hand up to slick back his infamously unruly hair. He concentrated hard through the confusion. It was difficult, as he had just been rather rudely roused from his slumber, but he was at last able to locate the source of the sound that had stolen him away from his dreams so roughly.

His radio wanted his attention.

“Wake up pal, wake up!” came the voice through the static, it’s intense volume causing the Voxola’s frame to shake.

The scientist groaned, reaching over to the nightstand to retrieve the little radio, then setting it on his pajama-clad lap, gripping the sides gently.

“It’s a lil’ early,” Wilson slurred, his mouth not yet at one-hundred percent of its functional capacity. He had kept his talking radio friend upstairs in the past, but some part of him that wanted desperately for the company of another person, the lonely part of him that was tired of living in this run down shack convinced him that keeping the thing next to his bed was a good idea. This was the third night in a row that the radio had woken him before the sun had. Wilson was starting to regret his decision.

The machine continued to chirp happily on despite his sluggishness.

“Get up, now, get movin’! We have to get to doing some science! Don’t you wanna do some science, Wilson?”

“Sure, when I’m well rested, and I’ve had a chance to shave and eat breakfast perhaps,” Wilson chuckled, amused by the voice’s enthusiasm. He took a look at the moldy old grandfather clock out in the hall, squinting to read it through the dark before simply getting up and flipping the light switch instead. “It’s three in the morning, you know.”

“How am I to know what time it is where you are?”

Wilson hummed in acceptance, nestling the radio in the crook of his arm as he exited his room and began descending the nearby staircase, hoping to grab something to eat before the radio bid him to do anymore work.

“You make a fair point. So what time is it there? You don’t live where I live, then?”  
He didn’t get a reply for a time, and Wilson worried if he wasn’t scaring his friend by asking to many personal questions. Though, it was hard not to ask questions when your friend was a voice whose owner you didn’t know the identity of coming out of a radio- a device that, to Wilson’s knowledge, did not have the capabilities to support two-way communication.

Eventually, though, the radio did answer him.

“I live in nowhere!” it said, cheerily as ever. Wilson chuckled again, setting the radio down onto the kitchen table and opening the cabinets to see if he might have crackers or something of the like to snack on.

“So, you live in the country?” the scientist continued as he rummaged around the pantry, unsurprised when he found not a single crumb of food. Again he was greeted with silence, and he decided perhaps the person on the other end would take some convincing before he felt inclined to get chummy.

Wilson pulled up a chair and scooted towards the table, folding his hands gently on the countertop and flashing the radio a friendly smile, even though he knew that it didn’t have eyes to see him smile with.

“I live in the New England area,” he said, trying to prompt a conversation. “More specifically, Maine, the rural part. The really rural part.”

“And I live in nowhere,” the Voxola responded.

A frustrated sigh escaped Wilson’s lips. Okay, not getting anything out of this one, then. But then the voice continued.

“...My name is Maxwell.” it said, comfortable enough to share that much about itself, at least.

Wilson perked up considerably, satisfied that he was finally getting somewhere. He rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his palms, then scooted forwards some more, eyes bright with interest. God, it really had been to long since he had spoken to another human being.

“Maxwell? That’s a handsome sort of name, I think,” Wilson mused, scratching at some stubble developing on the end of his chin. “Like the sort of name a rich fellow would have, or a banker or something.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” the radio responded, with maybe a hint of smugness.

Wilson took a moment to wonder about his companion’s appearance. His go-to image of a rich fellow had always taken the form of a short, chubby man with a handlebar moustache carrying large sack fulls of money, but he could hardly imagine Maxwell in this way. Maxwell would have a bushy little moustache, perhaps, and soft, kind eyes. Like that young man Wilson sometimes ran into on the way home from the library.

Little did the scientist know just how wrong he was, but he would find out all about that in due time.

“Alright pal, I already know your name, and I’ve told you mine,” the radio continued. “So I get to ask a question now.”

“That’s fair.” Wilson accepted with a nod.

“Okay, lets see then…tea or coffee?”

Wilson laughed a little. “That’s an odd question.”

“I couldn’t think of anything better.”

He tapped his chin. “Tea, I suppose. I like them both pretty equally though.” Wilson rested his head on the table, and grinned. “My turn again, “pal”.”

And through the static the voice came. 

“That is fair.”

And so their chat continued until the gray of dawn, the scientist unaware of the shadows creeping into his little shack home, with both man and radio unaware of just how long the other had waited to have a friendly chat again.


End file.
